


Like Waves On The Water

by wordswordswords7



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon compliant before 5x11, Gen, Hospitalization, M/M, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Patrick fucks up, Sickfic, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswordswords7/pseuds/wordswordswords7
Summary: It's their first fight. Their first real fight. And Patrick, knowing he fucked up, is about to swallow his pride and apologize when out of nowhere the day gets so much worse.(Canon compliant before 5x11)
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer & Stevie Budd, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 54
Kudos: 366





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The day has not been a good one.

David has been waspish.

Patrick has been curt.

It doesn’t really matter how it had started, much less why. It’s the trajectory of the argument that’s the issue, and it seems to be headed in every direction; permeating every corner of the store.

Like a ripple turning into waves on the water.

Patrick had overslept and opened late. David had come in later than usual too, moving slowly and muttering something about a headache but at that point, Patrick is in no mood for dramatics. Later, David disappears off the floor and a customer is left unattended for too long. A vender hasn’t been called. An appointment is missed. At every turn, something seems to be wrong and nothing seems to go right. And both of them might be equally responsible but it’s just easier in the moment to place culpability on the other’s shoulders. Easier to weigh it down with eye-rolling and steely glares.

And finally an hour from closing...

“What’s the problem now, David?”

Normally when he says David’s name, there are undertones of exasperated tenderness or affectionate teasing. He usually likes to pepper it into their conversations more than is really necessary, because sometimes he thinks for all of David’s arch flashiness, he often goes unseen among the other Roses. Normally it feels nice to make David feel seen.

Now though, as they stand across from each other in the empty store, Patrick just hears clipped irritation in his own voice. He wants David to feel how Patrick is seeing him now—to squirm under his aggravation.

David rubs at his temples, eyes closed, and bites out, “The shipment of beeswax pomade is going to be late.”

“Your point?”

The look David gives him is incredulous. He waves his hand at the table between them. “My _point_ is that you sold the last jar half an hour ago and just promised another customer it would be restocked tomorrow.”

“And who’s fault is it that we’re not getting our regular shipment, I wonder?”

“Oh my god,” David clenches his fists and looks to the ceiling as if trying (and failing) to find his last shred of patience there. “Putting in the order late was a _mistake_. The store isn’t going to go under because I don’t have the production cycle of an octogenarian apiarists’ bee herd, or _whatever,_ committed to memory Patrick. I’m sorry I can’t do _everything_ right.”

It hadn’t even been an issue last month when it had happened. Just a minor annoyance shrugged off with a modicum of drama from David and a tender lesson-learned look from Patrick. But now it seems to be the crux for every wrong thing that’s happened today. And so when Patrick bites back, maybe he bites a little too hard in too tender a spot. Maybe he feels a pang of regret at the line he’s crossing, but he forces it down so that he can just be angry and right for a moment longer. Because he really did forget about the shipment, and he’s annoyed that he’s made a promise to someone he can’t keep. But he’s feeling too stubborn to admit it.

“Yeah, well would it kill you to do _one_ thing right? I’m getting sick of holding your hand to do everything around here.”

David’s wide-eyed reproach is immediate, as is his uncharacteristic but stormy silence. It’s the kind of silence that promises plenty of vitriol later when he finds the words. They stare each other down for several long, tense seconds. David’s face is white with anger and his teeth are clenched so tight that a muscle is popping at the corner of his jaw. Patrick knows he’s gone too far, but he’s still being propelled by mulish righteousness. So sure, he breaks eye contact first, but it’s only so he can grab his jacket off the stool where he’s standing behind the counter and make a tight-lipped exit from the store.

He’s not running away. He’s not.

He’s practically vibrating with adrenalin (and yes, shame) when he beelines for the Cafe just to have a destination.

He finds an empty booth and falls into it, trying to ignore the pit that has found a place in his stomach.

“Fuck.”

He says it into his hand, like if only he could shove the word back down his throat along with everything else he’s just said.

“Hi Patrick, dining in?”

He looks up and Twyla is staring back at him, her ever bright smile stretching a little wider, the way it does when she’s trying not to let on that she’s aware something isn’t quite right. He’s usually not on the receiving end of that smile, but he rarely eats dinner at the Cafe, and if he picks up take out he always chats with her at the counter while he waits.

He wonders if his neck and ears are red—a telltale sign of embarrassment.

“Uh…yeah...” his mouth stalls while his brain tries to find a reason for him to be there. “Just a coffee, Twyla. Thanks.”

“Okay, and…” she waits but when he just looks at her confused, she raises a brow. “Anything to go? For David?”

Twyla is a far better person than Patrick is.

He sighs. “His usual coffee would be great. Thank-you.”

He just needs a minute to cool down. He just needs to backtrack and figure out how they got here.

This kind of fight is new for Patrick and David. Yes, they’ve bickered before, and he’s put David in his place and David has certainly done the same to him. But aside from that week apart after Rachel showed up, the little arguments and spats have been just that: little. They’ve been short lived and laughed off. Nothing a tender kiss and a contrite coffee couldn’t fix. When the Rachel thing happened, it had left them both devastated; sad really. This had just been mean.

So yeah, this might be unfamiliar territory for Patrick and _David_ but it’s certainly not for Patrick. It’s all feeling a little too reminiscent of his fights with Rachel, and it makes him feel sick, because at least Rachel gave as good as she got and instigated her fair share of their blow-ups. He knows, though, that even if they’ve both been dicks today, David wasn’t the one to lash out harder than was called for, nor was he the one to leave before the conversation could swing back around.

It doesn’t feel good knowing that this relationship isn’t immune to Patrick’s old habits.

When Twyla brings the coffees (both notably in to-go cups) he settles up right away, deciding that it’s definitely his turn to swallow his pride, man-up, and apologize. Leaving the Cafe, he cuts across the street at a slow trudge, thoroughly dreading what David might say (or not say) to him in return. But when he opens the glass-paned door, it’s to an empty storefront.

“David?”

There’s movement in the backroom and David emerges from the door behind the counter, ringed fingers wrapped tightly around a bottle of Tylenol. In his other hand he’s swiping a kleenex across his mouth. From where he’s standing, Patrick can see the contents of the first aid kit strewn across the couch in the other room.

“No, mm-mm.” David is gesturing to Patrick with one hand while the other presses on his temple. “No, leave.”

He looks uncommonly pale, shaky even, and for a minute Patrick forgets that he’s supposed to be apologizing or even that they’d been fighting in the first place.

“David are you ok?”

“Am I– _are you kidding me?!”_

Patrick takes a step forward but David steps back, like opposing ends of the same magnet.

“You don’t look good.”

He really doesn’t. His shoulders are nearly up to his ears, tense as if he’s bracing for impact, and the dark circles under his eyes (the ones Patrick had been pointedly ignoring all morning) are a little harder to ignore now that they’re the only colour he’s got to his skin.

“Oh _my god_ ,” David’s dark eyebrows, stark against his pallid face, shoot up in disbelief as he misunderstands Patrick’s meaning. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

He slams the Tylenol down onto the counter and seems to immediately regret it. With a groan, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Hey,” Patrick says gently, closing the space between them. “I think you should sit down.”

Behind the counter, Patrick can clearly see vomit in the trash can they keep there, and his concern peaks double-fold. When he tries to manoeuvre David to sit back on the stool, the other man throws his shoulder back away from Patrick’s touch and looks up with a glare.

“No thank you,” he snaps and squeezes back around the counter so that he’s put space between them again. “You need to l-lea–”

The words seem to stutter out and a brief look of confusion passes over David’s face. It’s as if he’s stuck in place except for a tremor that suddenly rolls through his body. And Patrick is stuck too, looking into his wide eyes and unable to unfreeze himself from this bizarre and infinite moment.

And then several things happen all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

David’s body falls back into the display table and drops to the floor along with several glass jars, their contents crashing against the hardwood. And so does the coffee tray that’s so far been clutched in Patrick’s hand. Feeling as though he’s moving through molasses, he pulls himself through his shock and stumbles around the counter to drop to his knees, oblivious to the shattered glass around them both.

“David? David!”

He thinks maybe his hands are numb because he sees them shaking David’s shoulders and _sees_ them holding his face, but he can’t _feel_ it.

And someone else is in the store with them, a voice he’s not following saying words he can’t understand. He thinks he hears himself say the word _collapsed_. Hands pull him back and he wants to fight them, but it’s like all the strength has left his body and he’s easily pushed back so that he’s sitting with his back against the counter. Something is being pressed into his hand and he makes out the word _pressure_.

Someone else is blocking his view of David, and from here Patrick can only see his upturned hand. His brain, for all it’s worth, becomes hyper focused on the four silver rings wrapped around David’s fingers. After a minute he seems to find his voice. “Is he...what’s h-happening…”

A woman’s voice is shushing him, and he can feel her fingers pressing the towel to his palm as she rubs his arm, comforting him. He leans into her and turns.

“Mom…?” But it’s Ronnie of all people and Patrick doesn’t understand the look on her face.

Time is passing both excruciatingly slow and yet jumping ahead at a pace Patrick can’t keep up with. One minute he’s looking at Ronnie and the next there are flashing lights outside the store. Then it’s Stevie’s strained voice saying, “I’ll ride with him.”

Patrick is being pressed into the gentle arms of Jocelyn and then placed into her truck. He doesn’t really know how long they’ve been driving before his brain catches up with them.

“I need to ride with him.” His voice sounds small and far away, like he’s under water.

He turns to Jocelyn in the driver’s seat and she takes her eyes off the road only for a moment to give him a look of pure sympathy.

“I know hon, but Stevie’s with him and we’re almost there. You just hold on tight to that towel.”

He thinks maybe she’s lying, because “there” has to be Elmdale Memorial Hospital and they’ve only just passed Mr Hewett’s hobby farm, the white beehive boxes visible from the road. They nudge something in Patrick’s muddled brain.

“The pomade.”

“What’s that?”

He doesn’t answer her, but he does look down at the towel in his hand. It’s soaked through with blood.

It’s so red in the bright hot light of the country day but he still can’t feel his hands.

* * *

They get _there_ eventually, and Patrick trails behind Jocelyn like a lost child as she navigates their way through the hospital. He’s not really sure where they’re supposed to go but believes (perhaps naively) that David will be there at the end looking up at him from a bed and wearing a papery gown under protest. Except they just find themselves in a waiting room with David nowhere to be seen.

Very suddenly, a flash of black hair and grey plaid is pressed against his chest. Patrick looks down to see Stevie clinging to him with shaking arms. It’s such a strange thing for her to do that Patrick _finally_ seems to snap out of the fog he’s been in for the last...who knows how long?

“What’s happening, where is he?” He asks her, but she’s strangely white and blurry-eyed, and it takes her a minute to compose herself as she pulls away from him.

“They wouldn’t let me stay with him,” she manages to say, sniffling and wiping at her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. _Incorrect_ , David’s voice echoes in Patrick’s head. “Nobody has any fucking information around here.”

Jocelyn (he’d forgotten she was here) squeezes both their arms and smiles reassuringly. “I grew up with plenty of the nurses here, and you know a few of them even helped deliver Rollie Junior. Let me see if I can’t loosen any lips, huh?”

“Thanks,” Patrick says but she’s already gone.

They stand there, bereft for a moment before Stevie clears her throat and tugs him by the towel-free hand toward a row of empty chairs. They sit, Patrick staring off blankly ahead and Stevie curled up around her knees as if she doesn’t trust her body not to launch itself into anyone else’s arms today.

“What happened?” she finally asks.

Patrick takes a deep breath but it catches in his throat. He tries again.

“He had a headache. He overslept and he had a headache, and then he just...he was standing right in front of me and…” He’s got his arm outstretched now and lowers it. “He kind of...he stopped talking and _fell_. And then...people came?”

“I was at the cafe. Ronnie was too. She saw him collapse through the window and we ran over, called the ambulance...”

He notices for the first time that the knees of her jeans (like his own) are covered in what smells like body milk. Like she’d been kneeling in the damaged product that had been knocked off the table, in order to be closer to David. To help him. There’s some in her hair and he can’t take his eyes off it.

“He has to be okay. He can’t fucking leave me here alone, it’s not an option,” she says it more to herself than to Patrick, or maybe she’s just _willing_ it to be true.

Her chin trembles and he looks away to give her the small sense of privacy that he knows she wants. As for him, he looks down at his hand once more and thinks that maybe the shock is wearing off because he finally feels the sting of pain beneath the towel.

He’s about to unwind it from his palm when Jocelyn returns with a nurse in tow.

“You really should have this taken care of in the ER,” the woman says and then leans in conspiratorially. “But I think we can make an exception.”

“David?” he asks instead, as she helps him up by the elbow.

“Sorry honey, but you gotta be family.”

“He’s my...I’m his boyfriend.”

“I know, but that’s one rule I really can’t be breaking.”


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

When he gets back, hand glass-free and stitched up, Stevie is alone. She’s still curled up around herself and she has her head in her arms.

“How’s your hand?” she asks without looking up when he sits down beside her.

It doesn’t really matter. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“Has...has anyone called the Roses?” 

“Jocelyn,” is her succinct and miserable reply.

The thought of David’s family makes Patrick think of his own and he can’t help but breathe out shakily, verging on tears. Stevie finally looks up.

“Shit.”

She says it like she knows he’s going to break before he does, and of course she’s right. A single gasp escapes his throat and then it’s over for him. She’s got her arms wrapped around him once more, only this time she’s offering comfort rather than seeking it. 

It only lasts for a few minutes before he forces himself to swallow his gulping breaths and focus on keeping it together. He likes to think he’s the type to stay calm and collected in a crisis, but he’s a freezer. Always has been. Once, when Patrick was twenty-one and home from college for the holidays, his dad had fallen off the roof stringing up Christmas lights. Clint Brewer, with his broken leg, had held _Patrick’s_ hand during the ambulance ride. 

“Is there someone you want to call?” Stevie asks, sounding like she’s grasping at straws because she isn’t really up for being a pillar of support either. “Like, your parents or...I dunno…”

Awash with a fresh sense of shame, Patrick shoots her a side look and of course she catches it.

“Patrick.”

He puts his head in his good hand and she’s pulling away, cold now and distant in a way she’s never truly been with him before.

“They don’t know about him.”

Of course Stevie Budd can read him like a book. Of course she can.

“They know about him,” he counters weakly, but she sees right through it.

“But not _about_ him.” She shoots up as though unwilling to associate herself with this betrayal, and then, as if recalling some passing memory says, “Jesus, he’s totally talked to your mom on the phone before. He _thinks_ they know!"

Patrick can’t argue with her; _knows_ that she’s right. And yet can’t help but think about the pit of terror in his stomach every time David had answered the store phone with a cheery, “Oh hi, Mrs. Brewer!” As if he might give Patrick away at any second. It’s just that Schitt’s Creek has been this little oasis where at first nobody knew Patrick, except as David’s business partner and then _partner_ partner. No one had blinked and he’s just wanted to bask in that openness a little longer before facing the rest of the world.

“I haven’t told them,” he finally says in all but a whisper. “Any of it, I just…”

Stevie falls back into her seat. “He deserves _better_ , Brewer.”

She sounds furious, and he can’t look at her because he knows she’s right. David is her best friend, and he can’t be here to be angry at Patrick on his own account so of course Stevie is standing up for him. 

But then, maybe because she really is Patrick’s friend too, and maybe because (just like David) she has a startlingly soft center beneath her armour of indifference, she gently adds, “ _You_ deserve better.”

After a strained silence, filled with far too many thoughts for Patrick to wrangle, he quietly asks if she needs to call anyone. Her flat response ends the conversation completely.

“Everyone I care enough to call is here.”

* * *

The Roses, when they arrive, arrive in a whirlwind. Moira is a crackling display of histrionics and Johnny doesn’t seem to know where to be or what to do with his hands. He looks completely lost up until the moment he snaps out of it long enough to take in Moira’s own panic. Patrick watches as Johnny finds purpose and action in settling his wife into a hushed unease. Sitting her down and holding her hand—and it works. He pacifies and placates her, and as Patrick watches this strange dance between David’s parents, he realizes why it feels so familiar.

It feels just like every time Patrick has soothed David’s flighty nerves. Every time he’s tenderly pressed against David’s skittish defences until he’s been let inside. Like when he’d calmly told David he loved him for the first time, and let his own quiet presence be enough for the other man despite the uncertainty that was bubbling beneath Patrick’s surface. The uncertainty that Patrick had let out like a breath he’d been holding once David had left the store, not to mention his barely contained relief when David had said it back later that morning.

Just like Johnny and Moira, Patrick’s purpose is David.

It’s Alexis that really surprises Patrick, and in retrospect he shouldn’t have been so thrown by her ability to remain collected. How many times has she sprinkled tidbits of international outbreaks and high steaks escapades into their conversations? He should have trusted her to be the Rose that could keep her shit together.

“Mhmm, yeah but his _whole_ family is here now? Like, every single person. So, it would be super helpful if you could like, tip tap away at your little computer and just let me know what’s happening with David right now. Cause like, if my mother doesn’t hear something soonish she’s going to start reprising her role as Sunrise Bay’s Chief Surgeon, and I think you and I both know that 80’s hospital soap reenactments can get _very_ loud.”

He doesn’t know how she does it, whether people succumb to her strange charm or if she just befuddles them until the easiest way to make her leave is to do as she says. But when Alexis returns from the nearby nurse’s station, it’s with a pen, a clip board, and more information than Stevie or Patrick have received in the last two hours.

Like everyone in the Rose family, it’s impossible _not_ to see the gears moving in Alexis’ head with every passing thought. She’s scared, but she holds herself straighter, presses her lips together firmly, and holds her perfect eyebrows high, as if controlling her body will control her rampant thoughts. She sits on Patrick’s other side and doesn’t look any of them in the eye while she looks over the form on the clipboard and uncaps the pen. “So they’re running some like, _tests_ on David right now. A CT scan and an MRI. They want to see whether he needs...whether he needs surgery.”

Moria gasps, “Jo- _ohn_!”

But Alexis presses forward, “They like, can’t tell us _why_ he collapsed or whatever. But a doctor will tell us more later when they–”

She falters and finally looks up at Patrick and Stevie. “–when they know.”

“It’s alright Moira...kids,” Johnny is saying and Patrick can’t help but feel warmed by the fact that he’s addressing him and Stevie too. They’re all over or pushing thirty but to Johnny they’re just the _kids_. “David will be alright. He’ll be okay. We just need to let the doctors do...what they do, and, and he’ll be just fine.”

“I need some air,” Stevie says and stands abruptly to leave. She pauses just long enough to turn to Patrick, “Text me if there’s news.”

She’s not gone ten minutes before a doctor is calling David’s name, and they’re all standing up and holding their collective breaths. The doctor is blank faced and stoic, all professionalism, and it instantly makes Patrick think the worst.

“Thank-you for waiting,” she says. “My name is Doctor Greene, and I’m leading David’s medical team today. As of right now, David's condition is very serious. We’ve stabilized him, but it was a very close call. He’s very lucky that someone was with him when he collapsed.”

Patrick only realizes he’s gripping Alexis’ hand when he feels her squeeze it.

“We’ve ruled out any problems with his heart, but an angiogram and CT scan have detected a possible aneurysm—that is, bleeding in David’s brain.” 

The air seems to be sucked out of the room and Moira and Johnny need to sit down.

“We’re prepping him for surgery now.”

“How long will that take?” Alexis asks. “Are his chances...will he…?”

She can’t seem to bring herself to say the kind of outcomes Patrick can’t keep out of his head. Specifically, is David going to die?

“We’re going to perform what’s called a craniotomy on David. That means exposing the brain so we can repair the damaged blood vessel. I expect it to take a few hours at least.”

She didn’t answer the question, not really. But Patrick doesn’t think she’s going to, because speculating about open brain surgery seems like a gamble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks internet for the medical what-have-you. I'm sure it's all incorrect. Just don't like...look at it too closely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is "accurate depictions of medical science" even? Let's just all ignore it together, shall we?

**CHAPTER 4**

Patrick wanders away from the others at some point. Texts Stevie the news, and then just starts walking until he finds himself outside on a bench surrounded by tired nurses taking smoke breaks. He almost doesn’t notice his phone buzzing and doesn’t bother reading who it is before he answers.

“Hello?” His voice sounds hollow, and of course his mother notices immediately.

“Honey, is something wrong?”

Fuck.

“Um, it’s just been…”

“Patrick?”

“It’s David, he uh...we’re at the hospital. He’s having em-emergency brain surgery right now.”

“Goodness, what happened?”

“We were arguing and he just–” Patrick feels like his tongue has turned to cotton and he’s struggling to swallow. “Mom, he just fell right in front of me and I couldn’t help him.”

Marcy Brewer knows Patrick. She knows her son was frozen, might even still be.

“Sweetheart, are  _ you _ okay?”

“What?”

“It sounds like you got David help, but are  _ you _ okay?”

“They’re going to drill holes in his head,” is all he can say because no, he is not okay.

She lets that go but gently presses, “Is anyone there with you? Is David’s family there?”

He doesn’t even think before the words tumble out of his mouth. “I’m his family.”

When she doesn’t respond right away he clears his throat and adds, “His parents are here, and his sister. And Stevie.”

She doesn’t know who Stevie is but accepts this. “That’s good. Do you need anything? What can I do for you?”

She sounds eager to help. Eager to step in and take care of him like before. Before he broke off his engagement and drove away from his life, and kept driving until his car broke down outside of a nothing town five hours away from her. Before he built a new life and kept her and his dad at arms length so that his oasis wouldn’t be disturbed by their reality. She sounds so concerned, and so full of love that he can’t help but speak.

“Mom...I need to tell you something.”

* * *

The surgery takes so long that Patrick thinks he might explode. He and Stevie are sitting shoulder to shoulder in the same uncomfortable chairs they’ve called home for the last five hours, and Alexis is asleep with her head in his lap. Across from them Moira doses against Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny seems to be awake but resting his eyes against the stark white walls around them.

“I was such an ass to him today,” Patrick says quietly for only Stevie to hear.

“I’m an ass to him every day. Get over it.”

“No, I mean,” he sighs, “I was a supreme asshole. We were fighting, actually fighting, and instead of just dropping it I totally crossed the line.”

“Did you feel bad about it?”

“Of course! I was about to apologize when...” the words hang in the air between them.

She rolls her eyes. “So you had a fight. If there’s a bear to be found, David’s gonna poke it. It’s like a fucking super power. I’d put money down that he was being a total prima donna the whole time.” 

“Well no, maybe, but he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Then he was probably being shittier than the regular amount of shitty he would have been regardless.”

Patrick doesn’t feel better about it, but deep down he knows she’s not wrong.

“It was one fight. Probably not even a real rager. I get the impression you probably come from a family of huggers, Brewer. You’ve probably never seen your parents fight a day in your life. David’s different. His exes? By all accounts, they crossed lines like it was an Olympic sport. Yours is the first healthy relationship he has ever—and I do mean  _ ever _ —been in. Probably the first one he’s ever even seen. That little fight is nothing compared to the shit he put up with before you came along. You two probably would have kissed and made up before dinner if you’d had the chance.”

He thinks about that for a while then says, “I told my mom today. I told her everything.”

“And?”

“You’re right, I come from a family of huggers.”

“Knew it.”

Patrick doses off after that, and it’s almost 1 AM when he opens his eyes to see Doctor Greene waking Johnny with a gentle shake of the shoulder.

“Mr Rose? Mrs Rose?”

They’re all alert then, and time crawls while they wait for her to speak. She looks a little tired, a little spent, and he braces himself for the world to open up and swallow them all whole.

“David’s craniotomy was successful,” this is met with gasps and cries of relief, “and we were able to repair the damage. I do want to stress that we’re not out of the woods yet. The next 24 hours are crucial to David’s recovery, and we’ll be monitoring his condition closely over the next week or so to see if there was any lasting damage. But for tonight, he’ll be moved to a recovery room where you can see him.”

The doctor stays to answer a few more questions, to outline a few details of the surgery, and then she’s gone and replaced by a nurse who’s leading them off down another corridor to a long hallway of rooms. And in one of them is David.

The scene inside is horrible, and it stops Patrick like a punch to the gut. The lights are dimmed and there’s a version of David lying in the bed that Patrick can’t reconcile with the enigmatic man he wakes up to most mornings. For a second he even thinks they’ve been brought to the wrong room. Tubes and wires seem to connect to David from every direction, and his head is so thickly swathed with gauze and medical bandages, that none of his striking black hair is visible. Patrick knows they must have shaved some of it. He wonders about the scar. David’s face is the most upsetting though. The surgery has left him with two swollen black eyes, and a tube has been taped into his nose, looking as painful as every other wrong thing. It’s hard to make out his sharp features beneath the bruises and swelling.

“Just like when he was born, John,” Moira is saying in a strained and terrified voice. “So small, so many...attachments.”

“He was a premie,” Johnny explains to the others absently, unable to take his eyes off his son, though Patrick and Stevie are barely listening.

Even Alexis seems to finally be cracking. She slowly edges toward the bed, reaching out for her brother’s hand but stopping just shy of it, like she’s afraid to touch him. Patrick doubts she’s ever seen him this vulnerable.

“David?” Patrick almost doesn’t hear her say it. There’s no reaction from David though and she lets her hand drop to her side.

After a few minutes of silence, the nurse who brought them here comes in again and they all jump a little at her voice, kind and brimming with empathy. “David’s going to be unconscious for some time. I would suggest you all go home and get some rest. If his condition changes, we can call you.”

If his condition gets worse, Patrick thinks.

“I can stay,” he says, finally feeling like this is a moment he can take charge of. A moment where he can regain a sliver of control. “Mr and Mrs Rose, Alexis, if you want to go back to the motel I can stay with him. You’ve had a long day, I’m sure you want to get some sleep.”

They put up a small fight, but the reality is that Moira isn’t made for haunting sickbeds, and where Moira goes Johnny follows. It’s Alexis who sits down defiantly in one of the chairs beside the bed and refuses to look anywhere but at David. So then it falls to Stevie to reluctantly take the keys to the Lincoln and offer to drive them both home. 

“I’ll call with any updates,” Patrick promises.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Marcy and Clint find him before the others come back the next morning. He’s asleep in the chair he eventually convinced Alexis to give up for a cot, and he’s got his head buried in his arms on the side of David’s bed. Beside him, Alexis is curled up under the hospital blanket Patrick covered her with hours ago, her summer dress rumpled and hair a riotous mess.

“Son?” Clint shakes Patrick’s arm gently.

“Dad?” He blinks sleep from his eyes and rubs a hand over the faint stubble on his jaw. “Mom? What are you guys doing here?”

His mom has peonies in her hand and a soft look in her eye. “You needed us, so we came.”

Alexis stirs at the sound of their soft voices, kept low for her benefit. She pops her head up, clearly disoriented for a moment to find herself here and with two strangers.

“Um,” she clears her throat and runs a limp hand through her unkempt hair in an attempt to look presentable. Her mascara is smudged across dark circles under her eyes and Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever seen her looking less than perfect. She blinks up at Marcy and Clint, unsure of their presence.

Still trying to wake up, he stumbles through introductions. “Alexis, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is David’s sister.”

At the mention of her brother’s name, Alexis snaps her head around to the pale figure propped up in the bed. But David hasn’t moved an inch since the night before. Her face drops.

“Excuse me,” she pulls herself up from the cot, still wrapped in the blanket, and tries to slink past the Brewers, head ducked so they don’t see the tears in her eyes. “Sorry, I just–”

She ducks into the ensuite bathroom and closes the door behind her.

Patrick feels the strange need to defend her abrupt departure. This version of Alexis is so far from her normal bubbly self that he feels thrown by it. “She’s just had a long night.”

Marcy shakes her head. “Of course, don’t worry sweetheart. We understand.”

“Maybe I could get you both a coffee,” Clint offers, looking like he’s at a loss and itching to be useful.

Patrick finally stops to really take in the fact that they’re here, standing in front of him—standing in front of this whole mess. He suddenly feels the awkwardness he was too upset to feel over the phone yesterday. He hasn’t seen them in over a year and now they know why, and it’s possible everything is going to be different despite the reassurances they’d plied him with when they weren’t face to face. The steady beeping of the machines hooked up to his unconscious boyfriend assures him that, yes, absolutely _everything_ is different now. He doesn’t have the luxury of coming out over tea at home, he’s got to introduce them to the love of his life—a man—while he’s _fighting_ for his life. It’s entirely too overwhelming.

Marcy seems to feel the shift in Patrick’s demeanor and swiftly deposits the flowers on David’s bedside table so that she can pull her son into a hug. He finds himself crying all over again, but it feels better with her loving arms wrapped around him and his father's capable hand rubbing the back of his neck as he sobs. He feels like he’s five again. And this time he’s crying, not just from the stress and fear of yesterday, but the stress and fear of the last year and of all the lying. Which, if he’s really honest, has been many years in the making. Afterall, he didn’t just flip a gay switch the moment David had walked into Ray’s. More like David had given Patrick a good enough reason to shove aside years of confusion and uncertainty with Rachel to take the leap.

“We love you,” his mom whispers into his hair. “We love you so much. Never forget that.”

When finally he pulls away, his dad gives him a reassuring smile and says, “How about that coffee, huh? And maybe some breakfast for you and–?”

Clint is interrupted by a rattling groan coming from the bed, and Patrick very nearly faints at the sound of it. He’s at David’s side immediately, tenderly holding his hand to his lips and looking intently at his face for any sign of consciousness. 

“David? Oh god, baby can you hear me?” He doesn’t think he’s ever called David that before, but it comes out now in a harried rush.

David’s eyes flutter against the swelling that has gone down ever so slightly from the night before. He seems to be very slowly coming to and Patrick holds his breath. He’s vaguely aware of Alexis reemerging from the bathroom, clutching at his dad’s shirt sleeve like it’s anchoring her in place while they wait.

“Hmm,” David moans, brow furrowed in discomfort or confusion and he manages to crack open his eyes to look directly into Patrick’s. “ _Heeey_.”

It’s slow, and barely said above a whisper, but David’s voice hits Patrick like a tidal wave that’s been building since the moment Patrick woke up late yesterday morning. Like some insurmountable wave that’s grown from the smallest of ripples.

He releases a shaky laugh and kisses David’s knuckles.

“Hey,” Patrick echoes through tears and an ear splitting grin. “Aren’t you just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

And he doesn’t reply, in fact he falls asleep again almost immediately. But not before giving Patrick that twisting, knowing half smile that Patrick loves so goddamn much.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

“How bad is– how bad is it?”

It’s horrible, truly. Because the C-shaped incision (nearly the size of his palm) just above David’s right ear is stapled together in such a jarring manner that the human body should never have to be put through. Patrick feels sick imagining the kind of pain David would be feeling were it not for the constant drip of pain medication keeping him comfortable. Not to mention, Patrick knows that the second David sees himself in the mirror the fallout is going to be heart wrenching. His impeccable hair had been shorn away on the right side of his head to facilitate the surgery, and the impact of this kind of scar (both mental and physical) goes so far beyond vanity that Patrick’s not quite sure how he's going to handle it, but it’s safe to say not well. 

“Don’t worry about that right now.”

He watches as the nurse, Glen with the gentle hands and dependable smile, finishes replacing the dressing, and slips a thin mesh cap over David’s head. He pats David’s hand and squeezes Patrick’s shoulder before leaving them alone.

David has been drifting in and out of consciousness for two days. He’s been awake for a whole thirty minutes now, which is a new record and Patrick is soaking up every moment.

“I love you,” Patrick tells him quietly.

David has been having trouble putting his thoughts together, and takes a few seconds to respond. “I want...to go _home_.”

Patrick squeezes his hand and waits in case he has more to say.

“I want my– _our_ bed. I don’t _like_ it here.”

His eyes flit to the corners of the room suspiciously, and he sniffles quietly, still not fully aware of what’s happened to him but clearly miserable nonetheless. The first time he’d really woken up, he’d been too confused and drugged to completely take in the information Alexis and Johnny had been there to tell him. And after that there have been a few terrifying moments of consciousness when he’s completely forgotten waking up before and hearing the news at all. The doctors have assured Patrick and the Roses this is not an uncommon reaction.

They are currently on wake-up number five, and David finally seems to be retaining information. It’s slow and scary, but there’s a flutter in Patrick’s stomach—like there so often has been in their relationship—when David says “ _our_ bed” that makes him want to pepper the other man’s neck with kisses. He restrains himself and rubs his good hand up and down David’s arm instead.

“Well, we can’t leave just yet, but I promise when you’re released our bed is all yours for as long as you want it.”

David just gives one of his little _mhmm_ ’s in reply. What was once a reactionary quirk thrown into just about every conversation, has now become an easy way for David to express that he’s heard and understood the words being said to him.

The doctors have been running cognitive tests whenever they catch David awake. So far his sight is fine (the black around his eyes has turned into more of a purple-green and the swelling has all but disappeared), as is his hearing, sense of taste and smell. So far the only sign of any damage done by the aneurysm is the effort it takes to put thoughts into words, and a tremor that occasionally runs from his left shoulder down to his fingers. 

When it happens, Patrick holds David’s hand and hopes his stillness helps.

“My mom is stocking my freezer with home cooked meals,” he says to take David’s mind off of the hospital room. “She makes a mean lasagna. So that’s something to look forward to, huh?”

His parents have been staying at his apartment, taking care of all the small things Patrick doesn’t have the brain capacity to handle: meal prep, laundry, preparing the space for David’s discharge. There’s no way he’s going back to the motel. As much as Patrick truly loves the Roses, David needs a quiet and calm environment to recover. There had been some half-hearted pushback, but in the end they had all agreed Patrick’s apartment was the right choice. Johnny had even thanked him with a discerning look, knowing all too well how badly recouping with the Roses would be.

Patrick thinks back to yesterday evening when his own parents had finally convinced him to go home for a shower and a real sleep. The Roses had returned to the hospital with Stevie that afternoon, and Stevie had readily volunteered to stay the night with David while his family made the trip back to the motel with Alexis (who was in as much of a need for a hot shower and a night in her own bed as Patrick). It had not been an easy sell, but eventually they’d both conceded.

Patrick and his parents had stopped at Rose Apothecary first with Stevie’s emergency key to retrieve some things left behind in the panic of the previous day. When they had entered, the store had stood empty and untouched. Rather, it appeared untouched from _before_. The floors were clean, the trash can was empty, and the first aid kit packed away. The only sign anything had happened was the empty spot on the display table where products had once been before David had collapsed into them. 

Patrick had pressed his thumb into the stitches of his other hand, remembering.

“Son?” Clint had squeezed his shoulder and Patrick had come back to himself and moved to the backroom to retrieve his satchel. His keys, along with his phone charger and laptop, are right where he’d left them.

“This place is really something, Patrick,” his mom had said, walking around and taking in the alpaca wool throws, naturally sourced toners and creams, and the reclaimed wood cheese boards amongst the rest of David’s artfully chosen stock.

“This is all David,” he’d replied honestly. “I’m just the numbers guy.”

“Oh I doubt that. You’ve carved out quite the life for yourself here.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to invite you to come.”

He never actually did but they were too good natured to point that out.

“Well,” Marcy had soothed, “let’s just not make a habit out of it hmm?”

“Never again.”

Now, the next day, Patrick is already missing their reassuring presence. They both have work, and now that David has surpassed the white knuckled 24-hour mark, Patrick knows they need to be heading home in a day or two.

“Mom’s nice,” David is saying, pulling Patrick back to the present. “Lasagna’s...nice.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, clearly frustrated with himself for not articulating properly. Patrick notices he’s rubbing the fingers of one hand where his rings usually are for fiddling. Alexis currently has them for safe-keeping. Their absence on David’s fingers sparks the beginnings of an idea in Patrick’s head that he packs away for later when things are less dire.

“You remember meeting her?” Patrick asks gently, still unsure of what David’s recovering brain has been retaining over the past two days.

He stops fidgeting with the phantom rings and squeezes Patrick’s hand. “Mm, mhmm.”

For Patrick even a little _mhmm_ is more than enough.

“Uh, the store. What’s um...happening?”

“Stevie and Alexis are covering for us. Stevie put Roland to work at the front desk of the motel so she could. She said someone needed to keep Alexis from stealing hand cream, but I think we’re going to have to eat the cost of a lot of wine after this.”

David actually lets out a huff of a laugh. 

“Apparently Jocalyn is helping,” he adds and David makes a face. “ _Apparently_ she’s good at it.”

They sit in silence for a little longer, David mildly fighting sleep. Suddenly he grips Parick’s wrist, and looks at him with wide-eyed panic. Patrick’s heart jumps into his throat as he waits for David to say something, _anything._

“My...my Brunello Cucinelli.”

His _what?_ And then it dawns on Patrick. Ah...the sweater. He almost laughs but stops himself. It’s just that with that context in mind, the look on David’s face is the closest thing to normal Patrick has seen in days. He can’t help but fight a smile until he remembers.

Uh oh, the sweater. The one David had been wearing when he’d collapsed. 

Into the body milk. 

That had to be _cut off_ by the emergency medical team.

“Where’s. My. Sweater?”

“About that…” but Patrick can’t help it if his grimace is more of a smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Patrick has his eyes closed. He’s taking deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing and the rage to dissipate. A small hand slips into his and he knows who it is without opening his eyes.

“Well that was the fucking worst,” Stevie says dryly.

Always straight to the point, his Stevie.

“I’m going to kill Alexis,” he replies through gritted teeth.

Who could have possibly predicted showing David the massive wreck of staples holding the side of his head together alongside his new haphazardly shaved hairline would have been a _bad_ idea?!

“Not one of her best moments.”

Patrick and Stevie had left the siblings alone for all of five minutes in order to find a half decent cup of coffee only to return to David’s uncontrollable shaking while Alexis watched on from across the room, looking like a scalded cat. David had one hand plastered against his mouth, trying to cover his choking gasps and Patrick had to sit on the bed, careful of the IVs and monitors, to hold his keening body against his chest. Alexis had looked upon them with wide-eyed guilt. Her makeup compact was still open in her hand.

“He _begged_ me Patrick! David, I’m so sorry, but– well I didn’t know this would happen! I only wanted to like, _help_. David it’s not that bad, I promise!”

But if David had heard a word she was saying, he had given no indication. And he was clutching so tightly to Patrick’s shirt that Patrick was genuinely worried about what this amount of physical effort was having on his recovering body. 

And then the hyperventilating had started.

Only pharmaceutical intervention could calm him down after that, and a nurse was called to help transition David into a medicated slumber. 

“ _Really_ , Alexis?!” 

She had looked properly shamefaced but at that point Patrick had angrily made his escape to the bench outside where he’d called his parents from five days before.

“As much as it pains me to say this, I think she maybe had the best of intentions,” Stevie ventures when he doesn’t respond to her.

He finally opens his eyes and shoots her an incredulous look. 

“I mean, he was going to have to see it at some point and it was never going to go well. Admittedly, I really wasn’t anticipating _that_ ,” she frowns. “He’s always so dramatic about the little things, but it’s all just a smokescreen for the bigger shit going on inside his head. Shit he covers up by being nitpicky and fucking annoying about everything else. I expected him to...” she searches for the words, “I dunno, internalize and shut down about this.”

Patrick lets out a long exhale. There was a time in the very beginning of their business partnership, before he really knew Stevie, when Patrick had been jealous of her friendship with David. There was so much inherent trust there between these two people who so openly distrusted the rest of the world around them. And yet, where Patrick has had to chip away at David’s edges over the past year, Stevie always seems to simply roll in and ease the tension between David’s shoulders with her presence (or the presence of an expertly rolled joint). Except for when she’s winding David up, which is admittedly how Patrick and Stevie had found the special bond they share now.

The point is, Patrick is grateful he’s not the only one who has taken the time to study David, to really see what’s moving beneath the surface. Like being dramatic about the little things to take attention away from the big stuff. And fuck if Patrick doesn’t just love Stevie Budd, who is sitting here holding his hand just because he’s better at shrugging off the minor BS to deal directly with the bigger problems in front of him. And this is one hell of a problem.

Because yes, Patrick is a freezer in a crisis. But when faced with a problem that isn’t a potentially life-changing catastrophe, he’s the numbers guy. He’s the take-charge guy.

He’s the figure-out-how-to-keep-David-calm-and-not-kill-Alexis guy.

His anger with Alexis slowly subsides into a dull dread.

“I wonder how long before he wakes up again?”

Stevie shrugs, “Bet you wish you could go back to telling him about that Bruno Citronelli sweater right about now.”

Her brutal (and purposeful) mispronunciation has the intended effect and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Oh yeah, without a doubt.”

* * *

That night, the hospital is quiet around them and Patrick is squeezed onto the narrow hospital bed so that David can curl into him. David is taller, with broader shoulders, but feels small against Patrick’s body. It’s not super comfortable and Patrick’s arm is asleep, but David is finally half-dosing against his chest and he can’t bring himself to move.

The misery of the afternoon has not been forgotten, but it has been pacified and it has been placated. Occasionally, Patrick hears a residual teary sniff come from beneath the hood of his University of Western Ontario hoodie—a true sign that David is feeling miserable if he’s taking comfort in wearing cheap polyblends.

Patrick suspects there will be no end to the hoodies and toques until the staples can be removed, a metal plate can be added to smooth over the divot in David’s skull, and his dark hair has a chance to grow back. Even then, he wonders how long before David feels like himself again.

And if one person so much as looks at David the wrong way, makes him feel self conscious about it _at all_ , well Patrick used to play peewee hockey and he’s not above dropping gloves.

He gently kisses the top of David’s head, careful to avoid the right side.

“I love... _you_.”

Patrick waits.

“I fucking...fucking love you. Patrick.”

Oh yes, he would do anything for this man.

* * *

“Well David, I’m really pleased with your recovery over the past week.”

Doctor Greene is standing at the foot of David’s bed, looking over his charts and humming thoughtfully at what she sees there. 

David is sitting on the edge of his bed, having just been out for a short but taxing walk all the way to the nurse’s station. The hood of Patrick’s hoodie is pulled up over his head, and he already looks ready to fall asleep.

“We’re going to remove the clips this morning, and I think one last check-in with me this afternoon to see how you’re feeling. If everything checks out, Mr Brewer here can take you home.”

Patrick rubs his hand up and down the middle of David’s back. “You hear that, David? Home, where the real bed lives.”

David still takes his time to piece together his words, which (much like the tremors) has yet to correct itself. Thus far, Doctor Greene has seemed reluctant to promise it will.

“Better b-be where...where the lasagna lives.” 

“Hmm, no I ate all that days ago.”

This feels good. Not quite _right_ , but good. Good to be sitting here teasing and joking with each other with David (mostly) upright, and the promise of home on the horizon.

David makes a face and Patrick smirks.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

It’s warm out, and as Patrick walks the short distance from where he’s parked the car to the shop, he thinks that maybe spring has finally come to Schitt’s Creek. It’s been a long and slow winter, but he has a good feeling about things; an optimism that has been fleeting at times these past six months. Today, though...today he feels _good_. Really, really good.

He pauses outside Rose Apothecary and peers through the large glass windows. Alexis is sitting on the counter talking animatedly, and Stevie (still wrapped up in her winter coat) is ignoring her and sniffing a jar of hemp eye cream dubiously. And there’s David stocking shelves, insistent on being at the store even if it means taking a midday nap in the backroom. From the way Stevie steals the occasional glance at him, Patrick knows he left David in good hands while running his errand.

He smiles, feeling a bit of a tightness in his chest at the memory of what brought them here. A silly fight that was really so small but could have been so much worse had things ended differently. A fight that David has no memory of, and has waved off whenever Patrick tries to bring it up. 

It doesn’t matter really. It was the first but it won’t be the last. Hell, they’ve even had a few between then and now. Only these days Patrick has a steadfast rule when it comes to their arguments. No matter how mad, or how frustrated one of them is, no one leaves the room without an _I love you_. They haven’t broken it yet.

There’s a tap on the glass and Patrick snaps out of it to see David watching him. He gives his head a small shake and cocks a brow.

 _What are you doing?_ He mouths through the window.

Clearing his throat, Patrick squeezes the satchel at his side feeling the thin, long velvet case hidden there and inside four gold rings. He pushes open the door and gives David a peck on the cheek.

“Hey, you.”

“Did you get bored of watching us like a stalker, Brewer?” Stevie asks, one eyebrow raised.

Her eyes dart down to the satchel and she makes a face as if to say _Well, did you get them?_

He just smiles. “What can I say, you just looked like you were having so much fun opening an eye cream _not_ marked tester.”

She scowls and rolls her eyes, tossing the little jar onto the counter to pay for it.

Patrick shoos Alexis out of the way and rings Stevie up. She pockets the jar and receipt and turns to leave.

“See ya, losers,” she announces on her way out the door. “Someone around here might as well work for a living.”

David watches her go with a grin.

“Hey David?” Alexis asks nonchalantly.

He turns to roll his eyes at her. “What?”

“Are you coming to the Cafe for dinner tonight? Cause, like _Ted_ wants me to do drinks with him and his friends and I totally didn’t forget that he asked me, but also maybe didn’t realize it’s _bonding_ night with Mom and Dad.”

“Hm, mhmm…Alexis...”

There’s a pause and Patrick glances up from the register. David’s dark brows are high on his forehead, and he’s glaring at his sister, one hand hanging limply at his shoulder while the other pushes a lavender candle back onto the shelf. Patrick can see the wheels turning as he works to get the words out. His grey toque, the one he has worn as a shield for months, is sticking out of his back pocket—ready to be pulled on if he feels uncomfortable, but unnecessary amongst friends. The scar is still visible but it's becoming less and less of an insurmountable barrier for David each day and Patrick can't help but swell with pride at the progress he's made so far.

Patrick glances at Alexis and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. She’s leaning forward, fully knowing what’s coming, and waiting with the utmost patience for the inevitable.

“...lick asbestos.”

“Ew, David!”

And yeah, today everything just feels _right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get at least 1 "Ew, David!" in there before the end. Hope you all enjoyed!


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